Lusus Naturae
by Pollution
Summary: So ends the famous Harry Potter. If only. After being attacked and subsequently poisoned by Slytherin's Basilisk, Harry wakes up in the Infirmary Wing with a few unsavory changes to his person. Now he has to learn how to live with and hide the new him.


**Title**: Lusus Naturae

**Chapter**: Chapter One

**Rating**: T for Teen (May change later on in the story.)

**Warnings**: None for now. Later in the story there will undoubtedly be strong language, violence, slash, and possible adult situations.

**A/N**: I wanted to try something I hadn't before. The pairing I have in mind for Harry is unique to me as a writer, but of course it won't come into play for a very long while, and generally when I write HP fanfiction I stick religiously to canon or go spectacularly AU. This time I am at least hoping to toe the line. (It's a wide line, mind you.) I hope you enjoy this particular chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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><p><em>Lusus Naturae<em>

by:** Pollution**

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was not often criticized as the worst idea of an era, except perhaps by the very medi-witch who dedicated the majority of her time to keeping the school up and running. Poppy Pomfrey had taken over the Infirmary Wing of Hogwarts not long after her own graduation from the very same school. The medical field had always been her passion and she had wisely predicted that her skill set would not be as adeptly challenged in any other setting save for that of Hogwarts. It was because the idea of the school posed such a threat to her students that she stayed. She often told anyone who cared to listen—and perhaps a few that didn't care at all—that whoever thought to put such a large number of untrained, teenage witches and wizards into one castle and then expect them to learn how to control their magic without causing permanent damage to themselves, their classmates, and/or their surroundings should be taken out and maimed using muggle methods. Of course, she would never actually advocate violence against anyone as it was in her job description to promote safety and wellbeing, but if she did believe in the effectiveness of such brash action she might say the first victims should be the founders of Hogwarts for such little forethought in the planning of their illustrious school.

Poppy sighed as she jotted down a few more unnecessary notes about her current patient. She was frustrated and it showed in how she moved about the Infirmary, slamming drawers and cupboards as she collected potions and textbooks. Occasionally she would turn her attention back to the unconscious child in the nearest bed. Poppy would stop in the middle of a task just to stare at him until she caught the faint rise and fall of his chest beneath the thick cotton sheets. She had spent more time worrying about him than actually diagnosing and treating him. Letting the boy die under her care in her Infirmary was, put most simply, not an option. Of all her students, she felt a greater obligation to this one than the rest, not that she would ever admit it aloud. Poppy would do anything to save Harry Potter because that's what everyone owed him and nothing less.

The doors behind her swung open and a wave of magic subtly nudged at her psyche, alerting her to the intrusion. She finished lining up a regime of potions on Harry's bedside table before she turned to acknowledge them. A disgruntled Albus Dumbledore was a sight to behold certainly, and if Poppy had been in the teasing mood she might have pointed out that his hat was on crooked. She did not, in any case. Instead she grabbed for the clipboard and parchment she had taken her notes on, then handed it to him without a word.

Even with the clipboard in hand, Albus deigned to ask, "How is he, Madame?"

"His vitals are lower than I would like," she muttered, "but holding. He has a fever. Other than that? I have no idea." She wiped her palms on the skirt of her dress, a practiced habit that only reared its ugly head when she was nervous or agitated, and then rested them on her hips. "He is in a coma, Albus. For the foreseeable future and likely beyond even that. We should be thankful he's not dead, but is this any better?"

Albus drew his eyebrows together, like two bushy white caterpillars squirming along his face, and exhaled slowly. "We must stay strong and hopeful for him, if that is indeed all we can do. Have you heard from Severus?"

Poppy shook her head negatively as her focus fell briefly on the clock hanging above the doors. It had been nearly three hours since Harry was deposited into her care, and three hours since Severus Snape, resident Potions Master and one of the Professors at Hogwarts, had stole away to his lab with a gracious vial of the boy's blood. He had yet to return.

"I've been reading up on the subject of Basilisk venom," she said, motioning briefly towards a stack of books on a table across the room. "I was also able to gather a secondary account of what happened near the end of the events that took place in the Chamber from Ms. Weasley when she stopped by for a third time, demanding to see her savior. It would seem that, by all accounts, Mr. Potter should be dead. Perhaps you could tell me what it is that I'm missing, Albus?"

Poppy pivoted back around to grip the guard rail attached to Harry's bed. Her lips pursed at the sickly green tinge his skin had taken on and the flush of brilliant red across his cheeks from the fever. She listened dimly to the scuffle of feet and rustle of cloth as Albus stepped up beside her.

"By all accounts, save one, Madame."

Her eyes narrowed at the man's cryptic hint. She didn't bother to ask—Albus knew better than to play games with her when it came to her patients, after all. As if by cue, he promptly continued.

"It would seem Mr. Potter had some unexpected help in the Chamber. Fawkes was able to aid him, and, I believe, in more ways than one," Albus murmured, smiling down at Harry.

Fawkes was the Headmaster's Phoenix familiar. The only way Fawkes would have been able to help Harry was if the boy had shown great loyalty to Dumbledore. Poppy almost applauded the boy's naivety.

"Phoenix tears," she guessed. "It is possible, I suppose. It explains why he isn't dead, at least. But Phoenix tears have immense healing capabilities. He shouldn't be in a coma!"

"Perhaps I can be of assistance?"

Poppy jerked at the sound of a new voice cutting across her Infirmary. She turned her head and caught sight of Severus in her peripherals. The Potions Master stalked forward with purpose, a vial of crimson liquid in his hand. He stopped when he had reached the side of Harry's bed opposite Poppy and Albus and extended the vial to her. She took it, only pausing to inspect it for a moment.

"What did you find, Severus?" Albus asked, his voice well laden with innocent impatience.

Severus curled his lip at the Headmaster, but chose to ignore his tone. He turned his sights on Potter and kept them there as he explained his findings.

"Thankfully I was able to garner what I could from the sample before it was destroyed. In analyzing it, I found that his bloodstream was saturated with two foreign elements. Basilisk venom being the more prominent, of course, but also magic."

On the tail end of his sentence he leaned in and carefully opened one of Potter's eyes, forcing back the eyelid to expose a ring of emerald encircling a despondent pupil. He leaned back with a dissatisfied hiss a few seconds later.

Poppy's nose scrunched up as her mind sprinted through half-formed thoughts in an attempt to decipher Severus' meaning before he could say. "Magic shouldn't be present in the bloodstream at all. It is either within your magical core or expelled outside your body. How—"

Severus interrupted, raising his hand to quiet her. "Potter was dying, that much we know. Basilisk venom works quickly and in most cases it kills immediately. Especially considering how small Potter is and how large a dose he received. When witches and wizards die—"

"Their bodies excrete the magic from their core into the atmosphere," Poppy finished for him.

Severus narrowed his eyes at her and opened his mouth to berate her for disrupting his explanation, but Albus stopped him.

"What of his magic?" Albus asked softly.

"If something happened during this process of the magic leaving his core and pressing towards the surface," Severus continued silkily, "something that reversed the effects of the Basilisk venom, it is plausible that the entirety of that magical build up could have very well stayed within his body. It could have simply been pulled into his bloodstream and spread out through him instead of returning to his core. The purest form of magic speeding along his recovery."

"What do you mean, speeding along his recovery?" Poppy demanded.

He nodded his head once in the direction of her folded hands, to the vial of Harry's blood. "When I received that sample of blood it was completely contaminated with Basilisk venom. Now, there is nothing but blood and magic."

"That's impossible," she huffed. "Magic does not counteract the properties of Basilisk venom, no matter the concentration. It doesn't work like that!"

"I'm telling you what I found, Poppy. I don't know precisely how it happened yet."

Albus chuckled softly and the other two gave him their attention. His hand began to run through the length of his beard, a gesture both members of his staff recognized with no small amount of disease. Neither of them dared to ask.

"Magic is an astonishing force within our lives, my dear friends. Personally, I believe that with it anything is possible," he said loftily.

Severus sneered and flared his nostrils at the wizard. "This is not the time for riddles, Headmaster. Tell us what you know."

Poppy wholeheartedly agreed. She turned to set the vial of Harry's blood alongside the other glass receptacles on the bedside table and crossed her arms at Albus when she returned her focus to him. He, at least, had the decency to look sufficiently cowed.

"It is just a theory, but say that Fawkes' tears did not make it into young Mr. Potter's bloodstream. Severus, you didn't find any trace of them, is that correct? There is no way that Harry could have known they hadn't. If Harry believed that Fawkes' tears would heal him, and what with all that loose magic flowing throughout his body, who is to say that he didn't influence his magic to mimic the effects of Phoenix tears and eradicate the Basilisk venom from his body. The process would not be perfect and perhaps his magic would need a bit more time to heal him completely, which would explain the coma."

Poppy and Severus remained silent in the wake of this revelation. If that were true, and that was a rather ample if, then Harry would be alright. The explanation certainly fit, with the exception of one small detail.

"I've said it before and I will say it again. Magic does not counteract the properties of Basilisk venom, no matter the concentration! To assume that this child was able to instruct his magic to overcome the venom on the misguided supposition that Fawkes' tears, which proved to be wholly ineffective, would save his life is— is absurd!" Poppy seethed in her frustration, closing her eyes to keep from mutely launching more of her ire at her friend and superior.

Albus grasped at her elbow for a short, reassuring moment before pulling away. "I believe that, until we have more information, it is the best theory we have to work off of. Fantasy or no." He smiled grimly at Severus. "Magic is fickle, Poppy. We can only hope that she has bent her will in our favor, just this once."

Harry knew light, blinding as it seared past the feeble defense of his eyelids and penetrated the darkest corners of his brain, and he knew heat as it permeated throughout his entire body nearly scorching him from the inside out. He groaned and threw one arm over his face to block out the light, at least. As he did so a myriad of voices stirred from all directions and began to enclose around him like a smothering blanket of noise that threw off every other sense he had at his disposal. He instinctively curled away from the closest explosion of sound that came as a deep baritone just above his right ear. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down onto his back. Another pulled his arm down to his side. His eyes peeled open and pain coursed through him. Involuntary tears raced down his cheeks. He whimpered and closed his eyes again.

"Mr. Potter, stop this at once!"

He halted. Each of his limbs fell back to the bed as one with a single, mighty thump. For the first time he was able to make out what was being said. He even recognized the voice. When Madame Pomfrey gave an order, even the disturbed were impelled to obey.

Madame Pomfrey sighed, her hand still clasped tight around his left wrist. "Thank you. Would you like to sit up?"

Harry nodded to the best of his ability and from either side of him, hands reached out and supported his shoulders and back as he was dragged upwards. This gave him the power to lean his head forward. Direct light was no longer an issue and he was finally able to open his eyes. He recognized the starkness of the white sheet spread across his lower extremities. Armed with the knowledge that he was in the Infirmary Wing, again, he could think of only one question.

"What happened?"

Madame Pomfrey lifted his chin with one hooked finger and cocked her head at him. "We were quite hoping you might be able to shed some light on that particular subject. What is the last thing you remember?"

"I—" Harry paused, trying to think, but nothing came to mind. Panic blossomed behind his eyes and spurred a dull, pounding ache into action near his temples. "I don't know."

Someone else patted his knee lightly. "Take your time, my dear boy," the person said.

Harry recognized this voice as well. It was Professor Dumbledore. He sincerely hoped he wasn't in trouble.

"I remember being in the Chamber of Secrets," he said finally, resigned to whatever punishment came his way. "Ginny was there, she was unconscious, and—" He stopped and looked up fearfully at Dumbledore.

The elderly wizard smiled behind his beard and nodded slowly. "Ms. Weasley told us about Tom Riddle. Go on."

Harry bowed his head again. "He had my wand. He summoned— the Basilisk! The Sorting Hat gave me Gryffindor's Sword and I fought the Basilisk. Fawkes was there. He scratched the snake's eyes out. Then I stabbed it and its fang went into my arm. I don't remember anything after that."

When he looked up again it was to Professor Dumbledore exchanging glances with Professor Snape, who Harry hadn't noticed was there. Some unspoken conversation passed between the two before Dumbledore turned his focus back to Harry.

"You don't remember getting Ginny Weasley out of the chamber? Or the conversation we had?"

"W-we spoke, sir?" Harry asked. Fear was slowly creeping into his sleep-addled brain. "Is Ginny alright?"

"Yes, we spoke," Professor Dumbledore replied calmly, "and Ms. Weasley is quite alright thanks to you. After we spoke you passed out in the corridor outside my office. You don't remember any of this?"

Harry shook his head and wrung his hands in his lap. "What's wrong with me?"

"That is difficult to explain," Madame Pomfrey interjected, "but I will do my best. Just as soon as you take your potions."

"Eugh."

The first potion went down easily. A fever reducer that Harry felt was much needed. Madame Pomfrey was naming them off as she uncorked the vials and passed them to him. The second one, something about nutrients, did not go down quite as well. By the third, half of the potion ended up on his shirt. Madame Pomfrey snatched the fourth potion back before he could make a bigger mess.

"Are you alright, Mr. Potter?"

Harry grimaced. Something was wrong with his mouth. Potions always tasted awful, but they had never left such an awful slime behind. He rolled the tip of his tongue along the top row of his teeth and nearly gagged at the consistency of his own saliva.

"I think there's something wrong with my mouth," he tried to say. Instead it came out sounding something like, "I shink shere's shomeshing wrong wif my moush."

Madame Pomfrey actually rolled her eyes at him as she leaned in to inspect his mouth. "Open wide," she instructed.

Before she could reach in, Professor Snape lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, restraining her hand. Madame Pomfrey immediately narrowed her eyes on the wizard, lips already forming the first syllable of what Harry imagined would have been a rather loud admonishment.

Professor Snape pulled back her arm and leaned in to take her place. Carefully, using the sheet draped across Harry as protection, he wiped across the boy's lower lip.

"What is it, Severus?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

Professor Snape shook his head and withdrew his wand. With a muttered incantation the drop of coagulated liquid separated from the cloth of the sheet and became suspended in air. It then moved with the direction of Snape's wand towards a beam of light coming through a window far above their heads.

Madame Pomfrey quickly grew impatient. "May I diagnose my patient now, Severus, or are you so vastly intrigued with his—"

"Don't touch him," Professor Snape snapped.

Harry flinched, both at the tone and at the sentiment. He self consciously wiped at his lip, drawing Snape back to his bedside. The wizard grabbed his hand and inspected it too in the light. When he had finally examined the offending appendage from every possible angle, he reached into his robes and withdrew an empty vial from one of his many pockets. He directed the droplet of liquid into the vial and swiftly corked it.

"Severus?" Professor Dumbledore prodded smoothly.

Snape sighed, the intimidating draw to his brow lessening as what looked to be desperation took its place. Harry had never seen his Professor like this. It renewed the fear that had sunk low in his stomach to a fresh, rolling boil.

"I believe it is venom, Headmaster. It is of the same color and consistency of Basilisk venom, if I'm not mistaken. I will have to run a few more tests to be certain, but it would be best if no one came in contact with his bodily fluids for the time being."

Despite the warning, Harry's first reaction was to put a finger to his tongue and pull it back. He expected it to come back wet, but a perfectly formed droplet was not what he had imagined. It was amber in color and the emerald of his own eyes reflected back in it. His fear made a sudden, drastic jump to sheer panic.

Madame Pomfrey stepped forward and cast a cleansing spell on his finger, and even then held it at arm's length while inspecting it. "It doesn't seem to effect him."

"It does appear to originate from the salivary glands in his mouth. The venom is coming from somewhere inside his body. I doubt it would outwardly effect him if it is not causing him internal damage as well," Snape provided.

Harry stopped breathing. "Venom?" he coughed. "There's venom in my mouth? What is this? What's wrong with me?"

"Breathe, Mr. Potter." Madame Pomfrey settled a hand on his shoulder, an act that did not comfort him in the least. "I will explain in a moment, but you really must finish these potions beforehand."

_Potions?_ Harry thought, his eyes bulging wildly. _There is _venom _in my mouth! _

Madame Pomfrey did not trust him to feed himself the potions at this point and kept one hand on his forehead as she tilted his head and poured them down his throat. She was blatantly careful to avoid touching him. Harry tried to keep tears of panic from welling in his eyes. There were only three more potions after the fact. The last was added for his own benefit; a calming draught.

"Will you tell me what's going on, now?" Harry asked desperately. "It's bad, isn't it. Am I going to live?"

Madame Pomfrey summoned a chair from across the room and positioned it at Harry's bedside. Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape were quietly conversing near the doors. Neither of them looked particularly thrilled with the situation, not that Harry expected them to. Well, at least not Professor Dumbledore.

"You were bitten by a Basilisk, Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey began. "You are a very lucky boy to have survived for this long, and I am convinced that you will live to see many more days after this. However, this encounter is not without its ill effects. After you were bitten, we believe Fawkes cried into your wound. Phoenix tears have healing capabilities that would have nullified the Basilisk venom, but something went wrong. Either Fawkes was too late, perhaps the tears did not make it into your bloodstream, or it is possible that the venom overwhelmed the tears too quickly for them to be effective. In any case, the Basilisk venom traveled throughout your body and would have done irreparable damage to your internal organs had it not been for your magic. Somehow your magic was able to eradicate the venom, or so we assumed. With this new development I'm not sure if our theory still fits, but trust me when I say we will do everything it takes to figure out what happened to you, Mr. Potter, and attempt to reverse the aftereffects."

Harry stared in disbelief at his hands which had turned red with the force with which he wrung them. His knuckles stood out, white in contrast and pressed against his taut skin to an almost painful degree. For a minute he swore he had lost the ability to breathe, but somehow he still managed to form words.

"So, you don't know what happened to me," he said. He knew it was true. "And you don't know what's going to happen to me from now on?"

Madame Pomfrey frowned at him, crossing her arms as she leaned away from him. "You will stay here until you recover and then you will continue living as young men are supposed to, Harry Potter."

The speed at which Harry brought his hands up to his face nearly startled himself. He slapped them over his eyes as tears began to fall.

"What do you want me to do? Pretend this never happened? My mouth is secreting venom, Madame Pomfrey! That doesn't just go away." He was all but hyperventilating at this point. "Am I supposed to go back to the Dursleys like this? Uncle Vernon would kill me. I was a big enough freak before, but now? I'm—I'm a mutant! He'll literally kill me!"

"Mr. Potter! Potter! Harry, stop that blubbering right this instant!" Madame Pomfrey shouted. "You are not a freak. You are a young man who has found himself in an unfortunate situation. This does not mean you give up! You will stand up and you will deal with this because you are stronger than this."

"No I'm not. I'm just a kid! I'm just Harry! I don't want to be strong. I want to be normal. This isn't fair!" Harry turned away from her, rubbing angrily at his cheeks as they began to painfully burn.

Professor Snape was walking back towards them. When he reached the edge of Harry's bed he laid a cool hand on his heated forehead and carefully laid him back down with the other. "Life isn't fair, Mr. Potter. You would do well to learn that. Poppy, see if you can't do something about this fever. At this rate he'll be delusional by lunch."

"What about Ginny? And Ron?" Harry demanded quickly. "I want to see my friends. I have to know they're okay."

Madame Pomfrey sighed as she pulled the sheets back over his body. Eventually she brought herself to look him in the eyes. "Ronald and Ginevra Weasley have returned home for the summer. You've been in a coma for two weeks, Potter. The school year is over."


End file.
